


in ten years

by scumfuck



Category: IT 2017
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak - Freeform, Eddie and Richie, M/M, Reddie, Richie Tozier - Freeform, The Losers Club, boys in love but hiding it, richie and eddie, they cute or whateva, thinking of the future and stuff, u knoooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 10:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scumfuck/pseuds/scumfuck
Summary: "Tell you what," Richie spoke for the first time in a couple minutes. I finally ripped my gaze from his hair and refocused back on his face in the pale light. It was a cue for him to continue. "We both save up money. And when we're at our goal, we can tour Europe together. Deal?





	in ten years

**Author's Note:**

> lil drabble 
> 
>  
> 
> my tumblr is scumschmuck if you wanna follow me there

I find it funny to think about what I'll look like in ten years. I'd be 27. Out of college. I probably would change my hairstyle, too. Richie said that by that time I would have given in to the curtain style that Jonathan Brandis wears, but I argued that I would be too old to pull it off. He just shrugged and tapped his foot against the wall his bed was pressed up against.

I think that in ten years Richie would probably be out in Los Angeles like he always wanted to be. He told me when we were younger that's where famous people like Jim Carrey and the people from Nickelodean live and work and stuff. He would grow out his hair just a little too long so that he looks like Jim Morrison and he would lose the rest of the teenager cheek pudge and acne that we all still have. He would be a little taller, too. Not too tall, cause he hates being like his dad, but tall enough where he can still wrap a long arm around Bill or Mike and not be too short.

He would probably be more attractive than me, I think. At some point past the age of 30 I'm probably gonna be just like my mother. I don't want to be like her but maybe I will. Depends on if I'm as lonely as she got.

"You awake, Eddie?" the voice wasn't quiet, but it was gentle. It cut through the darkness in his room cleanly, and pulled me out of my train of thought. I turn my head from the floor and glance up at him. His face is leaning over the edge of the bed, pale in the night.

"Yeah."

It was faint, but I saw his lips twitch. He backed up in the bed and patted the spot next to him.

"C'mere," he whispered.

I sat up on the side of his bed. He was wide awake too, except his glasses weren't on and his face looked a lot younger than usual.

I leaned my head on the board behind his bed and stared at the sheets. He was staring up at me, I could tell because the blinds on the window were just opened enough so that the moonlight peeked through them, and it outlined our figures slightly.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked. He positioned himself on his side and pulled me down to lay with him. I reluctantly allowed him to, and his hand was curled around my wrist. I reveled in the feeling of our bare skin touching, not because I'd never felt it before, but each time we do, it feels like the blood underneath it starts to bubble up and the nerves bounce endlessly.

"What'll happen to us in ten years," I replied. He let go of my wrist and instead started to drum his fingers on the back of my hand softly.

"That's cool. We would probably live in a city, right?" _We_. I felt my skin tingle, and goosebumps prickle all over it.

I breathed in. "Yeah. L.A.?"

He might've smiled. "Is that where you'd like to live?"

I shook my head after a moment of pondering. "It's where you'd like to live."

He laughed, and I noticed then how close we were, because I could feel the laugh on my lips, and it was almost contagious.

"Tell me a place where you wanna live. Anywhere. Even visit," he told me. I had to think about it.

"New York City, I think, I've wanted to live there for a while. Or um.... I'd want to visit Italy. And France."

Richie's head moved on the pillow. The contrast between his dark curls and the pillow mesmerized me, and I stared at them.

Then he hummed a little.

"What?"

"I'm just thinking of you in the Louvre." He laughed. "That's so cute."

I kept staring at his curls. I wondered what he'd look like in California. He would smoke a lot more weed. Beverly said there are a bunch of stoners there. Richie wouldn't be too much like them, though. I'd imagine he'd be a comedian or something. He's always cracking jokes even when they're not necessary.

 I suppose that's all you really need when you're a comedian. He's got the same kinda expressions as Will Ferrell. Most people say his name and then start to laugh. People say he's real goofy looking. I don't think he's goofy. He's not goofy when he's not joking about things. Sometimes it easy to tell and sometimes it's not. 

"Tell you what," Richie spoke for the first time in a couple minutes. I finally ripped my gaze from his hair and refocused back on his face in the pale light. It was a cue for him to continue. "We both save up money. And when we're at our goal, we can tour Europe together. Deal?" 

I blinked at him. Touring Europe meant being able to see all of the places I'd only seen in textbooks or behind cheap frames at bookstores or on those postcards from aunts and parent-friends you've never met. It was something you wouldn't think you would want so bad. 

He nudged me for an answer. "Deal," I finally whispered back, almost breathless.

"And you're sure you don't wanna move to Cali with me?" he asked, his voice young and hopeful. 

I let myself smile a little. "How about we live in New York for a little bit, then tour Europe, then move to Los Angeles," I suggested. 

"That's a fine proposal, Eds- but I think touring Europe first would take all of the beauty out of California." 

"...True." 

He laughed, and leaned towards me. I thought he was going to do something, like kiss my nose or my face or my- my _mouth_. But when he got close enough, his head craned over my shoulder. 

"It's two a.m." 

He was only looking at the clock. 

"Yeah..." 

"You tired?" he asked between a yawn, patting his hand over his mouth. 

I decided to lie. "Yeah." 

"Me too." 

I was about to sit up and get back on the floor, but he wrapped an arm over my chest and pulled me to him, my back facing his front. 

"Stay. It's too cold for you to sleep on the ground," he mumbled. I nodded, my breath caught in my throat painfully.

His grip loosened and instead he snaked his arm around my waist and laid it there. I shuffled against the pillow, trying to sink into the feeling of it all, the scent of cheap fabric softener and Richie and the way my skin burned between the the thin fabric of my shirt and where he touched. And the feeling of him sleeping against the back of my head, the light breaths ghosting on the back of my neck. 

"Wow," I murmured to myself. He seemed to hear me though, cause he laughed and then kissed the hair behind my head and I really think my brain melted. 

"Sleep." 

I closed my eyes. I tried to think of something boring to fall asleep to, but everything went back to Richie and I. Living together. Forever. Until Richie got a wife and moved out. And all of the photographs we would have shared between us twenty years after that. He would laugh and make a joke about how we were all skinny and thin back then. And about our hair. And clothes. But I didn't go too far into the future. Only ten years. Like it was a promise, something that would inevitably happen between us. 

Ten years in the future.

 

 


End file.
